


Breathing In Your Dust

by Ceranovis (KiiKitsune)



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Bondage, Burns, Choking, Cigars, Community: wrestlingkink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Hair-pulling, M/M, Painplay, Rough Oral Sex, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 10:24:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5001139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiiKitsune/pseuds/Ceranovis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt on the kinkmeme http://wrestlingkink.dreamwidth.org/279.html?thread=312599#cmt312599 :<br/>Dean Ambrose/Roman Reigns or Seth Rollins - Human Ash Tray</p><p>Inspired by the terminator ad (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oRonKStXZM4), either Roman or Seth sucking Dean off while he's smoking a cigar and obnoxiously blowing smoke at their face. Afterwards he puts his cigar out on their skin. </p><p>Brownie points if the "you didn't say please" line gets used while he makes them beg to be allowed to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathing In Your Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Why are they in Nevada? Who knows. It just seemed right.  
> Big thanks to Sparx for being my lovely beta. 
> 
> Title is from "Wanna Be Yours" by the Arctic Monkeys

The music is slow. Four AM easy listening, turned low enough for the wet-slick sound of mouth-on-cock to take main stage. A gust of smoke washes over Seth and tangles in his hair, right alongside Ambrose’s fingers. He inhales sharply through his nose, taking in the rich, loamy scent instead of air and gagging. Ambrose yanks him off with a laugh like the cracked Nevada roads that had brought him to this shitty motel in the first place.  
  
“If you throw up on me I’ll throw you over the back of my bike and dump your cute ass out in the middle of the Mojave.” Ambrose grins, smoke leaking out of the corner of his mouth, “I’m sure then you’ll get all the practice you need, buying rides with that mouth until you can come crawling back to my door.”  
  
Seth’s face tingles, spit cooling on his beard and lips, the inside of his mouth cottony. His fingers flex against Ambrose’s thighs. “You wouldn’t…”  
  
“You sure you wanna test that?” Ambrose shakes him by his hair, taking another puff from the cigar and blowing it directly into Seth’s face.

He flinches, eyes snapping shut and watering. Coughing, he blinks until the tears clear from his eyes and roll down his cheeks instead. “No.”  
  
“Good.” Ambrose lets go of Seth’s hair and kicks one leg up over his shoulder, the heel of his boot thumping down against Seth’s shoulder blade and jolting Seth forward into his cock. “Get to it then.”  
  
Seth laps up the length of it, not quite ready to deprive himself of air again. He flicks his tongue around the base, then flattens it to the thick vein on the underside of Ambrose’s prick and laves a long line up to the tip. He’s barely got the head past his lips when he feels Ambrose’s heel digging in and forcing him down again. Sliding down the wet cock is easier this time. He doesn’t have to second guess himself or try to set the pace. All he has to do is open wide and relax his throat.  
  
“Fuuuuck.” Ambrose’s hand finds its way back to his hair, knuckles tight to his skull, pressing him straight down into wiry blond curls.  
  
Ambrose leans forward, stomach curving just slightly over Seth’s head, trapping him further. Then he taps the cigar with one finger, hot ash fluttering down onto Seth’s bare back.  
  
Seth yelps, throat spasming and dragging another guttural groan from Ambrose. The sound vibrates through him, making it easy to ignore the way Ambrose’s open fly is threatening to cut his chin.  
  
When Ambrose finally leans back, he slides his boot off Seth’s shoulder and spreads his legs obscenely wide. Putting the cigar between his lips and grabbing Seth’s head with both hands, he yanks Seth off and shoves him back, sending him sprawling. Ambrose wraps a hand around his own erection, giving it a languid pump as he watches Seth gasp for air and shake off the sudden impact.  
  
Seth sits up, cheeks red and hair a mess. “The Hell-“  
  
“Take your dick out, Rollins.”  
  
That isn’t an order he has any intention of disobeying. Instead of standing, he drops backwards until his shoulders hit the floor. Getting his feet under him and his thumbs in his waistband, he arches up and slides his tight pants and underwear down to his thighs in one. He’d taken off his shoes and socks well before this all started so the pants come off easily, tossed away somewhere in the vague direction of the bathroom.  
  
Teeth flashing around brown paper, Ambrose doesn’t bother taking the cigar out of his mouth when he speaks. “Come ‘ere. Hands and knees.”  
  
The carpet scrapes at his palms and kneecaps, but Seth goes, too focused on feeling the heavy bob of his own cock now that it’s free to care much anyways.  
  
Ambrose takes the cigar out of his mouth, tipping his head back to breathe smoke up into the air, “Fuckin’ needy aren’t you? So eager to be my bitch, you’d let me do whatever I goddamn wanted.”  
  
“Yes,” Seth breathes, hands coming up to Ambrose’s knees. He moves to go back to Ambrose’s cock, but the man is lightning fast, grabbing Seth’s wrists and diving forward off the chair. He lands on Seth’s chest, pinning his wrists down. The heat of the lit cigar dances near the palm of Seth’s hand.  
  
“That’s pretty stupid of you, Rollins. You know what I’ve done to people.” He drags Seth’s wrists across the carpet, pulling them together to switch to a one-handed grip. He puts the cigar back in his mouth and, with his newly freed hand, yanks his already open belt out of the loops of his jeans.  
  
Seth bucks, struggling just enough to get Ambrose smirking at him again. The man drops more of his weight down on Seth, winding the belt around Seth’s twisting wrists with the ease of someone who’s done the same to less cooperative opponents. He lets go of Seth’s wrists once they’re bound tight, grabbing him under the chin instead and thrusting forward so his prick drags over Seth’s lips.  
  
Seth opens his mouth and lets Ambrose guide himself in, the angle forcing his prick against Seth’s palate and making Seth retch. His whole body jerks with it, curving upwards and making Ambrose slide even further down his chest and in deeper.  
  
A few short thrusts and Ambrose pulls out, trailing saliva and precum over Seth’s face and neck. “Tell me, sweetheart, should I come on your face or down your throat?”  
  
Jaw sore and mouth dry, it’s borderline painful to speak. When he does, his voice is almost as gravelly as Ambrose’s. “My face.”  
  
“What was that?” Ambrose leans down close, one hand cupped around his ear and smoke curling out across Seth’s cheek, “What do you want?”  
  
“I want-,” Seth swallows thickly, “-want you to come on my face.”  
  
“Well, if you insist.” Ambrose straightens up and feeds his cock to Seth once more. He bucks hard into Seth’s throat, moaning with every sloppy thrust until he slips out and ruts against Seth’s face. Reaching down, he shoves two fingers into Seth’s mouth to slick them before he wraps the same hand around his cock. One. Two. Three. And he’s coming, hot ropes over Seth’s brow and nose and lips. Ambrose wipes the last of it off on Seth’s chin before swaggering up to his feet and taking another drag of the cigar.  
  
Seth bring his bound hands down to wipe ineffectually at his face, at least managing to get the come away from his eyes. When he goes to reach lower though, down to his aching cock, Ambrose stamps down on his wrists, pinning them to his stomach. Seth wheezes with the force of it.  
  
“Now who said you were allowed to do that?”  
  
“God, I need it, come on, De-”  
  
The cigar sizzles against the soft flesh just below Seth’s collarbone. He screams. Ambrose clamps one broad hand down over his mouth, twisting the cigar to grind it out. “You forgot to say please.”  
  
Seth shakes and yells out his pain against Ambrose’s palm. There’s going to be a nickel sized burn scar there, and all he can think about is how sick he is for still being rock hard.  
  
The second Ambrose moves his hand, Seth’s begging. _Please_ s spill from his mouth so fast he barely has time to finish one before the next comes tumbling out. He doesn’t even register that Ambrose has moved until the man is crouched between his legs and jacking him off. Between Ambrose’s familiar hand and the fact that Seth’s been on edge since he first took off his shirt, it barely takes him a minute to come.  
  
Ambrose wipes the release off on Seth’s chest and ambles back over to the chair, picking up the matchbox on the side table to relight his cigar.  
  
Seth lays there on the grungy carpet, panting and wrecked, closing his eyes to the stained ceiling and listening to the soft crackle of the quiet radio.


End file.
